Ebony Void
by Multifaceted Melancholic
Summary: Emptiness is supposed to be pitch-black...but his void is the color of the dying dusk.


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**Ebony Void**

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**Summary: Emptiness is supposed to be pitch-black...but his void is the colour of the dying dusk.**

**Disclaimer: Bleach belongs to Tite Kubo. This crack pairing is mine.**

**Purpose: An attempt to make a totally crack pairing sound believable. ****First Bleach fanfic****, so just testing the waters with a one-shot…**

**Warning: Born from a sudden idea in the shower, this piece was written in a frenzied half-possessed half-dressed state; so the grammar and flow might be botched up, despite the later fine-tuning. It is definitely more mature than my other works, with an implied sexual relationship between the main characters. It's not enough for an M, but I'd advise you to proceed with caution.**

**Setting: After Ichigo loses his **_**shinigami**_** powers, he loses his sense of purpose. Broken and wandering, he finds solace in the arms of the goddess of flash.**

**Beware of long and rambling sentences.**

...

* * *

She was the first woman he had ever seen naked.

A normal human woman would have been mortified and embarrassed, frantically gathering clothes to conceal her nudity while turning red as a tomato. A normal _shinigami_ woman would have dressed at _shunpo_ speed, before beating him to a pulp and accusing him of being a pervert.

_**She**_ was a _shinigami_, but she was as different from normal as hollows were from humans.

"Never seen a naked woman before, Ichigo-kun? You're more innocent than you look."

Flustered, embarrassed, face as red and hot as a jalapeno, he turns away, determined to give the nude figure the modesty she doesn't seem to want. It only serves to amuse her, and she taunts him with lewd offers and flashes of ebony skin when he is most unprepared.

_A crazy woman,_ he thinks to himself as he entreats her to cover her lithe buxom body. In the midst of his mortified blushing, he cannot help thinking _'and a beautiful one as well'._

...

_Anger, bitterness, rage, helplessness; so sad, sad, sad..._

Apparently Rukia had visited Karakura again, and once again, she had left without seeing him. Or, more correctly, she had seen him, and conveyed a message via Orihime; but he, cursing the loss of his _shinigami _powers (for the millionth time), was unable to see her.

Furious and not a little lonely, Ichigo sets out on a rampage through the narrow by-lanes of Karakura, randomly picking fights with street thugs, on a quest for something to numb the pain of being separated from a precious friend _or was that midget something more?_

His stumbling feet lead him to Shihoin Yoruichi's temporary home – she being someone with a plentiful supply of liquor and a refreshing lack of morals when it came to distributing said liquor among her underage acquaintances. (Urahara never let her stay in his shop when she was in human form; she had a tendency to drag Jinta into drinking fests and force Ururu into 'fashionable' clothes.)

"_**Fight me."**_

Ichigo is not good with words, so cannot express all his pent-up frustration and helplessness in a language his friends can understand; violence is his only liberation when feelings are too strong to control.

Sado and Ishida had (naturally) refused his poorly-phrased demand, the latter with barbed kindness that hurt more than his Quincy arrows, for Ichigo can see it in their eyes, their pity and sympathy and guilt (though his weakness is no fault of theirs). They do not say much, but they do not have to, for it is glaringly obvious; he has no powers and therefore he is no match for them. (He was no match even _with_ his powers, or so Uryuu would say, but Ichigo knew that four-eyes was full of hot air).

Ichigo is not good with words, but even if he could somehow explain his jumbled confused emotions, he would not; he does not want his friends to reply with well-meaning pointless consolations. He wants them to beat him black and blue and send him to blessed oblivion, so he can nurse broken bones and wounds of the flesh rather than those of the heart.

"Fight me."

The goddess of flash merely eyes him speculatively, before wordlessly pulling out the _sake_. She does not know the full story, and he does not care to tell her, but the misery in his eyes is explanation enough.

He drinks like he is dying of thirst, gulping directly from the bottle in one hand, the other arm already reaching for the next drink. Three bottles along, _but it is still not enough_. The memories are too fresh, too sore, too damn _painful_ to be suppressed by mere inebriation.

"Fight me" he repeats, hoping that the third time would work a charm. He knows that blood and gore are the most vigorous of antiseptics, and his wounds have been festering for far too long.

"Fight me" he repeats desperately, and to his surprise, she agrees.

It might have been a close combat, had he been at full strength and battle-ready. As a weakling human without a drop of _reiatsu_, he is lucky to survive the first few hits, though he believes she is consciously trying not to harm him.

He screams and lunges and tackles and parries, mindless of whether his attacks are actually connecting, exhausting energy reserves he has no other use for.

His body is too heavy; he has spent far too long in astral form, so much time that he is unfamiliar with the limitations of his muscles and bones and hardened sinew. His flesh encases him like a cloying weight; a darkness as suffocating as the _Muken_. His _zanpakuto_, formerly an extension of his very soul, deserted him along with his powers; he misses the reassuring weight and the snarky voice is his head.

Yoruichi sidesteps his pathetic attacks nimbly, her face blank and normal cheeriness gone. She is almost entirely motionless, save for a few well-timed blows that unerringly render his limbs immobile. Throughout the ordeal, she does not say a word; the absence of her usual teasing and taunting only heightens the feeling of something lost beyond hope.

He pours out his frustrations and despair into the bubbling cauldron of insanity, while she quietly watches the concoction simmer and dim. Exhausted, his anger gives away to bitter tears, which only serve to garnish the poison of defeat.

He is exhausted, spent; not just physically but also in mind and spirit. His optimism seems to have died along with the Arrancar, and he cannot continue pushing himself to achieve the impossible.

His attacks become slow and uncoordinated (even more than before, which is saying something). He is nearly out of energy; stamina and dogged persistence can only take him so far.

Screaming the name of his _zanpaktou_ out of habit, he aims one last powerful blow at the dark-skinned goddess, finishing the fight with a grand finale just like days past. His eyes close before he can see the impact of his desperate lunge, but he welcomes the darkness that precedes unconsciousness. Though how he ends up waking naked in Yoruichi's bed in the wee hours of the morning, he has no idea.

...

They form an agreement, of sorts; he comes to her when he is sad, or angry, or troubled, or simply in need of a hard pounding. They fight sometimes, or hold stilted one-sided conversation, mostly questions with no answers. But mostly, they indulge in forbidden pleasure, a sensual dance of the body, smothering each other with kisses, crushing skin and lips with merciless passion, a wholly different battle for dominance; as if forcefully subduing the other could repress the bitterness of their twisted lives.

He is disgusted at himself for seeking physical comfort in the arms of one god-knows-how-many years, nay, _decades_ older than himself; sickened by his pathetic intoxication with her husky sensual voice and rough experienced hands; terrified by his innocent vulnerability and the whispered secrets he spills into her feline ears.

She was his guilty secret, sleek and sensual and predatory, just like he animal form she chooses to bear. And he? He was just her plaything, a passing rat who happened to catch her interest. She nudged him into this merry chase; playing hide-and-seek with reality till the stars go down and unforgiving morning returns.

...

Initially he had believed her ebony skin and dark lustrous hair, her sinewy deadliness to be a reflection of the evil within him, a black goddess to match the bleached-white bloodthirsty lunatic trapped in the deepest recesses of his conscious.

He knows better now. Her onyx eyes were fathomless pools in which he could drown his raging emotions and his burning heat till he was completely spent; physically, mentally and emotionally. She was a void, accepting all he had to offer and so much more, indiscriminately leeching joys and sorrows alike, leaving him with almost anesthetic calm.

_**He had mistaken her for the embodiment of his darkness. But in truth, she was a void where he could pour his darkness, all joys and sorrows alike, and count on her to absorb it all.**_

He didn't know whether to be afraid or grateful for his trance-like state. Emotions were cruel, but they kept one afloat when life suddenly loses its purpose, when one drifts bereft, with neither ambition nor dream to punctuate the monotony of existence.

When Ichigo sees his friends' smiling, clueless faces, he feels guilty; but he tells himself they wouldn't understand. How could they, when he himself had no idea why he returned to her embrace week after week and night after night?

...

She never came to him, but she never denied him either. He kept returning, because dysfunctional as their relationship was, they both shared the same unstable love-hate-longing-avoidance tremulous relationship to the _shinigami_ and Seiretei.

How ironic. It was a world he was thrust into without any warning, just like how _sode no shirayuki_ was thrust into him so long ago, the starting point of the adventure of a lifetime. A world he wanted nothing to do with; now a world he cannot do anything without. Perhaps 'lifetime' is a short while for a human, and he has extinguished his fill of adventure...

He always came to their rescue, always providing a pillar of support against insurmountable odds... yet where are they when he needs them?

...

Yoruichi, he must admit, gives him a sense of belonging. Sometimes, he regrets moving out of his old house the same time he lost his powers; but he cannot bear to see his the peaceful remnants of his life, unchanged by the complete upheaval of the millennia old _Seireitei, _the concentric circles of which turned his (relatively) uncomplicated life upside-down.

When his father launches surprise attacks in the mornings, or when he stumbles into the kitchen to find Yuzu making breakfast, it is all so normal, so utterly ordinary; that he begins to doubt the cheery dining room was ever occupied by lingering souls or lecherous stuffed toys or midgets in _gigais_.

But there are changes; small signs that things are not what they used to be. His father's concerned glances, for instance; and Karin's blossoming spiritual power. He sees his no-nonsense sporty sister, her hair now long enough to tie up in a ponytail, so strong and confident and independent, so completely self-reliant; refusing the assistance of the big brother whom the entire _shinigami _world had depended on.

Karin is closed off, just like him; she does not confide her troubles with hollows and the like, probably because she does not want to cause any more worry for the Kurosaki household. He knows she visits Urahara's shop of remedies to her spirit-related problems, but he cannot stop feeling that it is so, so wrong; that she should be coming to her beloved big brother for support, that it is his duty to protect her, but _he can't, he can't, he can't_...

He mourns, for himself, for Karin, for his father, for Yoruichi, for the Vizard, and for everybody else whom their precious _shinigami_ so-called friends had deserted during their time of need.

...

Ichigo is used to rushing from one place to another, never still. Cruising through the darkened alleyways sends a heady thrill trough his tingling nerves; it is almost like skimming across the rooftops of _Seireitei_, only without the sweet smell of pure air and the electricity of _reiatsu_ battles.

So when Yoruichi invites his to 'jog' with her, he takes up her offer with glee. The run, side by side through the forgotten by-lanes of Karakura, filled with adrenaline. It gives a feeling of supremacy, to be king of the streets, lording over the ramshackle flats and graffiti-covered walls and littered parks.

She laughs, a giddy thrill borne of excitement and confidence. It is a cheery sound, so bright in contrast to their surroundings and situation. Grinning, he joins her laughter; and for the first time, he does not fear the outside world.

...

People say that Ichigo is selfless to run recklessly to the rescue of his precious friends, completely disregarding his own life.

_**He knows they are wrong.**_

Ichigo is selfish, more selfish than anyone he has ever met. He endangers himself to protect those whom he cares about, and without whom he cannot imagine living. He is selfish, for he wants them by his side for all eternity, to pass their days in idle companionship bereft of meaningless mundane conflict and trivial grudges.

He protects his friends with single-minded determination, blind to all obstacles that come his way. Yet, in the midst of battle, his _nakama_'s faces become blurred and indistinct, warping into the features of the mother who died in front of his eyes.

Ichigo is cruel, too; he crushes his opponents who threaten his precious people and the peace they represent. He challenges their core beliefs and shakes the foundations of their loyalties, snatching away their devotion to their leaders and their commitment to their ideals. His words of sincere kindness rob his enemies of their will to fight, and create more comrades to add to his precious list.

He is cruel, but his harshness is bred by guilt for things that are not his fault. Bad with words, he'd lash out at the lost souls who haunted their little clinic, smashing their faces in a desperate urge to hurt the ones behind their death and despair.

Ichigo does not know to ask politely, so he begs with fists and knuckles and pays broken teeth as tribute.

_A selfless, loyal friend..._

Ichigo cherishes his friends, yes; but more importantly, he cherishes the present, the ephemeral moments between today and tomorrow, where everyone gathers and makes merry and life is bright and cheerful. It fills him with warmth, strokes a fire to protect those fleeting moments and the people who create them, to stop time itself so his contentment could wash over their combined sorrows.

Ichigo cherishes the present, and so he fears change; he fears the passage of years which churns emotions into indistinguishable impressions and creates rifts into the closest of friendships; **rifts**, which cause people to float away from each other, giving room for despair death in the space between.

Ichigo fears change, and so he hesitates to acknowledge the feelings of his buxom orange haired _hime_. Ichigo knows instinctively that a rejection would push her apart, and that their friendship would collapse, and their whole group would never be the same again, without their cheerful innocent Orihime-chan.

It is the same fear he feels in the mornings when he finds Yoruichi gone and himself all alone. She never sees him off; she leaves him in peace to pick up his rumpled clothes and frayed jumbled thoughts and reconcile to the fact that he has once more surrendered to her womanly charms.

...

When he is first approached by Xcution, he does not know what to say or think. They offer his deepest desire on a silver platter, and only his suspicion keeps him from gorging on this stunning news

When Ichigo sees Ginjo's Fullbring, he is moved to tears. Not out of awe, but joy; it is the first supernatural occurrence he has seen in a while. He can _see_, and it rekindles his connection to the world he once belonged to and the friends he sacrificed his powers for.

But in the aftermath, the meeting with the unusual gangster-like mob of the Xcution only serves to heighten his insecurities and raise more questions. He sighs. It seems a visit to his 'intensive' therapy is due.

He speeds to Yoruichi with his customary haste _but it still to slow; he misses his shunpo, misses gliding across the rooftops like a free bird; he misses Seireitei, and Renji and Rukia and everyone else..._

At her doorstep, he is plagued with second thoughts; it is not too late to simply turn around. After all, it isn't like Yoruichi is expecting him.

**But it seems she is;** for the _sake_ is ready on the table and his favourite cashmere blanket is laid out across the low futon.

He figures she probably knows, but still hesitates to broach the topic of his meeting with the shady group with questionable motives. After all, he comes to her to forget, so there's no reason to bring it up, is there?

So he stays silent, but for the first time, she initiates a sensitive discussion, albeit in an utterly blunt manner.

"I heard about your new friends, Ichigo. Growing popular, are we?" She is grinning, but her eyes are sad and a little wary. "_So_, what are you gonna do now?"

He pretends to ponder; but she can see he really has no idea where this new trouble is going to take him. Deliberately casual, he dawdles, "Maa... I'll think about it. After all, I just got out of that whole mess; I'm not sure I wanna dive headfirst into it again."

It is a bare-faced lie, but she does not call him out on it. "Fair enough" she shrugs, and drops the matter in favor of more pleasurable pursuits.

...

Xcution gives him purpose, a reason to feel useful once more; but the new comradeship only reminds him of the old gang back at Karakura High.

His old friends are good and kind-hearted, bright and cheery, like sunlight and birdsong and all those cheesy things, living their lives abiding by what is right and sticking up for the force of good.

The Xcution are darker, more brutal, suited for the grey areas of morality like the dimly-lit bar they call their headquarters.

But that's fine, he tells himself. He shine has grown dull; he belongs in the shadows now.

...

He agrees to their hare-brained scheme, but only to protect his family and friends; or at least, that's what he likes to believe. Deep down, he knows he would accept anybody's help, even Aizen's, if it could help dispel the pervading insidious despair of weakness.

"Maa, what's wrong in being a little selfish, Ichigo-kun?" She drawls lazily when he gives in to doubt and uncertainty again (_damn his weakness_!). he still thinks his selfishness wrong, but her words put him slightly more at ease.

...

He asks her, hesitantly, awkwardly, about her relationship with Urahara Kisuke. Not out of jealousy but of curiosity, for he is well aware that there is no love between them, neither on his part nor hers.

"I prefer younger men" she replies, saucy and seductive as always; vague answers for vague relationships. It is a secret, he can tell; Yoruichi maintains Kisuke's confidences just as she will take his web of deceit to the grave.

It is on the tip of his tongue whether Byakuya is also one of those 'younger men', but he refrains, _because he is not jealous_, or so he tells himself. But still he wonders in silence.

...

"Why don't you say anything to your precious admirer?"

It is a serious conversation, and she realizes it; for she responds just as solemnly. "Sometimes… when you know you are loved by someone whom you cannot love back, it is easier to simply live in the present and enjoy what you can till those fleeting emotions are ripped away from you."

She looks straight at his eyes when she says this, and he gets a strange feeling she isn't talking about Soi Fon but a very different person.

...

When he regains his powers as a _shinigami_, he is busy battling the Xcution and his supposedly traitorous predecessor; he has no time to mull over her whereabouts at this momentous time or her possible reaction to the rise of his former glory.

But he thinks of her later, as he ponders where his loyalties lie and what his future holds for him. _His powers have returned, but where is his unwavering spirit?_ And so, once more, he visits his secret mistress, taking her into confidence before he cements his allegiances.

He feels a hollowed imitation of his former self; and for the first time, he wonders how it must have been for her. She was a princess of the _Shihoin_, after all; while he was just an interloper. She must be missing her old home so much more...

His thoughts drift further along that line, and he wonders how she had imagined her life to be, back when she was heir of a noble clan and a heroine of the Gotei Thirteen. He certainly doubts that she would have dreamed of run-down warehouses in seedy working districts, nondescript shacks with peeling paint, hoarded with exotic furs and expensive liquor and whispered secrets of a teen-age lover.

He wants to ask, but he lacks tact, so the words don't come out quite as he wants them to. "What did you want to be when you grew up?"

He winces as the words leave his lips; they are childish, reminiscent of counselling sessions at the local police-station, a frequent haunt given the street brawls and damages to public property he caused during his worst slumps.

Idly, he wonders how long ago that was. Yoruichi was as old as Kisuke, at the very least; but who knows how many decades the dirty-blond scientist has lived?

Rephrasing his question, Ichigo mutters, "Had you ever given thought to where you wanted to be in life?" It comes out no more elegant that before, but at least his query is clear.

The ebony seductress smirks. "In the afterlife, you mean."

Ichigo sniggers at that, but nods to clarify.

To his surprise, Yoruichi answers honestly, though a bit distantly. "I always wanted to be a daredevil; to see new places and do exciting reckless things...like the characters of a book...to escape from the pressures of the Clan… to be just Yoruichi, the mischief-maker, not the heir of the Shihoin…"

The words are thoughtlessly spoken, but they stir his brain into action. He had never known that she professed an interest in reading. In retrospect, there are several things he does not know about her, her hobbies, her favourite colors, her preferred food...but he knows other things. He knows where she is most sensitive, the type of furs she likes to curl on during chilly nights, her scent, the taste of her lips... just as she knows his innermost desires, passions he never had the courage to admit even to himself...

Ichigo shakes himself, redirecting his attention to her content reminiscences.

"-Assassination, surveillance... recovery of stolen artifacts was my favourite, though... kind of like a treasure hunt..."

He hums noncommittally, but she is too lost in thought to hear.

"I used to love stealing things… small knick-knacks, in as flashy a manner as possible...old Yamamoto's pipe, Shinshui's sake, Byakuya-bo's hair tie..."

"You used to be a thief!" Ichigo raises an eyebrow, though he secretly thinks such recklessness suits her more than the observance of stringent laws and emotionless obedience. Chuckling, he throws out casually, "And what are you now?"

"A cradle-robber." She replies cheekily, but he sees the underlying seriousness in her eyes, silently urging him that it is not too late to back out of their questionable relationship, to walk back into the light.

He only snorts. _Like he could._

...

The Xcution are defeated; his powers are back. Seireitei has extended their strength to him, more to deal with the nuisance of the Fullbring that of a genuine wish to come to his aid.

Nevertheless, he is back in Seireitei, among the squads he missed so much; he is once more the Gotei's golden (or orange) boy; and he has no need for an ebony-skinned mischief-eyed emotional crutch. So he does the right thing, goes politely to her and calls their relationship(?) off.

She does not bat an eyelash; indeed, she seemed to be expecting him. She wishes him best of luck and waves his goodbye, promising to visit when he becomes the _Soutaichou._ They share a laugh at that, and he walks out straight and tall, the weight on his back somewhat lighter. He exits her darkened hovel into the harshness of the morning sun, and he feels clean and pure and bright.

...

Cool and collected, just like her. He can simply laugh off the most derisive of insults and stay composed in the most damnable scenarios. The Captains (well, the talkative ones at least, which means only Kyoraku and Ukitake) are no short of praise for his 'maturity' and sense of 'responsibility'. But he is unattached to mere words of support; he is familiar with the way the _Gotei _functions. He has promised them his loyalty, but they are yet to earn his trust.

Sometimes, he imagines death to be something like the void she creates within him when their bodies entwine. Heat pools in his stomach, but he is not warm; passion courses his body, but it does not reach his heart. She is a void, a parasite eating away his innocence and vitality, leeching the color and emotion from his turbulent life. _Why then, does he feel so empty without her?_

…

* * *

**Lots of repetition…is it dramatic or simply annoying? This became a big too long; i had to delete a few excessive parts. Final count: 4k+ words. Thanks for reading this weird little snippet!**

**Note: **_**Muken**_** is Seireitei's lowest underground prison.**


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